


Playing Doctor

by 221b_hound



Series: Triptych [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Doctor John Watson, Medical Device, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Multi, Nurses, Object Penetration, Oral Sex, Playing Doctor, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_hound/pseuds/221b_hound
Summary: Sherlock is waiting in the clinic. He's a little nervous. He needs a full physical. A really thorough physical. Really, really thorough. Luckily, his spice are medical professionals and more than willling to inspect every glorious inch of him. Inside and out. And they are going to be really professional about it. Really, REALLY professional.





	1. Waiting Room

**Author's Note:**

> I don't always write Johnlockary, but when I do, I write them happy and in love. And right now, that's how I want to think of them.
> 
> And this is their date night, while Mycroft looks after the girls (see "Bad Uncle")
> 
> I'd apologise for the pun in the final chapter heading, only I'm not sorry.

Sherlock sat in the clinic waiting room, folded hands tucked between his tightly pressed knees. His heels bounced on the awful, easy-to-clean carpet. His mind was scattered with the pressure of anticipation.

Dinner ( _light, a little wine, nothing strongly scented or heavy on digestion, so much meaningless talk, so many meaningful looks_ ).

The girls with Mycroft ( _he’ll indulge Ada in every request; he spent a life saying no to me, now he’ll spend one saying yes to her and Mae_ ).

That night two weeks ago. _John taking Sherlock’s pulse while Mary rode Sherlock, then again while John slipped two fingers inside Sherlock to caress his prostate. John’s fingers pressed into Sherlock’s neck. Mary’s wicked grin. (‘How’s the patient’s pulse rate, Doctor?’ John, in his Doctor voice, ‘The patient appears to be experiencing palpitations in response to stimuli’ and sliiiiiide with his fingertips. “He’ll need a closer examination, Doctor.’ ‘He will, Nurse.’ Pulse rate up up up, came suddenly, and so hard. Medical kink. Well. Should have expected that. Look at his spice_.)

The conversation after. Exploring. Ideas. Preferences. What to try ( _everything_!) and then plans. Babysitter. Light dinner. Keys to the clinic. And now. Here. 10pm. Alarms disarmed; security company informed ( _‘Dr Watson here. I’m doing some paperwork tonight with my nurse and practice manager. Be finished about midnight, maybe an hour later. I’ll text when I leave.’_ )

Waiting.  Parameters set but the exact way it would play out unknown. ( _Good things, good things, so many good things.)_

The door from Dr Watson’s office to the waiting room opened. Nurse Morstan stood in the frame. Flat-heeled shoes. Plain blue dress. Paraphernalia in her pocket – blood pressure cuff; thermometer. The exceedingly competent Nurse Morstan ( _Mary, his Mary, their Mary_ ) with her professional smile on her face; with an unprofessional sparkle in her eyes ( _hidden grin dimpling the corner of her mouth; irises wide with anticipation. Arousal. What have they been up to in there?)_

“Mr Holmes?”

Nobody else was in the room but this was part of the theatre of it. The _role play_.

“That’s me.” Sherlock scooted forward slightly in the chair.

“Doctor Watson is ready for you now. This way.”

Sherlock rose, wiped his palms on the flanks of his trousers, and followed the nurse into Doctor Watson’s consulting room.

 “Mr Holmes. What can I do for you today?”

All extraneous thoughts were banished. Sherlock Holmes’s considerable attention and focus were entirely centred now, entirely on this place, entirely on this evening that had been lovingly ( _wickedly, lasciviously_ ) promised to him.

“I’ve been a little concerned about my general health lately. I’d like a thorough physical, Doctor Watson.”

“All right. Well, take your shoes, shirt and trousers off behind the curtain there and we’ll get to it. You don’t mind if Nurse Morstan assists?”

“Not at all.”

Nurse Morstan smiled a reassuring, professional, distant smile. Doctor Watson wore his stethoscope along with his calm, reassuring, professional-but-kind solemnity.

Sherlock’s pulse rate went up up up.

 


	2. Reflexes, temperature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The medical exam begins, testing reflexes, blood pressure, temperature. Some of the techiques used by Dr Watson and Nurse Morstan are a little unorthodox, but their patient doesn't mind at all. Unless you count his erection as 'minding'.

Dr Watson tapped his patient’s crossed knee with the little hammer and the limb jumped satisfactorily. It was the last of the reflex tests: both hands, both feet, both knees.  The tests were exactly like reflex tests Sherlock had experienced before, only not.

Previously, the doctor in question did not leave on hand on an ankle or wrist, on shoulder or the small of his back. When Dr Watson wasn’t touching him with a warm, reassuring hand, the nurse instead had fingers resting on his wrist, his thigh, his back.

“Mr Holmes, if you would follow the tip of my finger.” Left, right, up, down, towards the bridge of his nose, away. But it wasn’t the tip of Dr Watson’s finger that maintained Sherlock’s interest. That maintained the steady trip-trip-trip of his heartbeat, and dilated his eyes, and caused the stirring in the silk boxers he still wore. No. It was Nurse Morstan’s fingertip, pressed against the inside of his knee; lazily sliding up his bare leg to the leg of his boxers. Moving under the hem, up, ghosting circles now against his inner thigh. Naughty nurse, and the Doctor apparently oblivious.

“Very good, Mr Holmes.” Dr Watson, calm and confident. “We’ll take a little blood now. Routine tests, nothing to worry about.”

Routine indeed. Sherlock’s last full medical had been completed six months ago. But he wanted the works, here. The full fantasy.

He hadn’t expected to begin to feel… not good. A little anxious, as the nurse attached the strap to his arm and asked him to make a tight fist, to bring out the vein.

Doctor Watson’s fingers were at his throat, taking his pulse, as he looked at his watch to time the beats, as Nurse Morstan prepared the syringe.

“That’s it, Mr Holmes, look at me.”

Sherlock looked into the doctor’s blue eyes. He could say no, now, if he wanted to. If he didn’t want Mary to search among the old scars for a place to take the sample. John’s eyes were warm. Concerned. Soft.

“Is everything all right?” Fingers still against the pulse point. Thumb caressing Sherlock’s jaw. Other hand on Sherlock’s wrist now. Thumb caressing the pulse point there.

Sherlock breathed in, then out, slowly. “Yes, doctor.”

The tiniest, slightest of stings. Hardly felt. Mary was very good at this. He suspected he knew why. ( _Assassin_ ) Instead of finding the thought alarming, he was aroused again.  (The frisson of danger, entwined with absolute trust. Heady. Like those early days of first learning to want John: _danger; trust: desire_ )

Nurse Morstan turned away to slot the blood sample tubes, duly labelled, into the rack.

While her back was to them, Doctor Watson said, very quietly, “I’d just like to check your blood flow, Mr Holmes. Hold still.” The hand on Sherlock’s pulse point moved down between the patient’s legs. Cupping. A soft squeeze, thumb brushing down the shaft of Sherlock’s thickening prick.

“Very good,” the doctor murmured, taking his hand away as the nurse turned back to them.

Their eyes met across their patient – doctor and nurse – and the doctor said, “Nurse Morstan, Mr Holmes’s blood flow seems satisfactory but a second opinion would be valuable.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

In an efficient yet kindly manner, Nurse Morstan reached between their patient’s legs to cup, squeeze, stroke. The Doctor watched her hand at work. Sherlock watched too. Mary’s hand. His cock lengthening. Pushing up against the fly gap of his boxers. His glans against the cloth, leaving a wet spot on the silk.

“The patient is responding healthily, Doctor.”

“Excellent.” Doctor Watson drew his patient’s attention back up, to meet his eyes, “Mr Holmes, we’ll just take your blood pressure now.”

Nurse Morstan took the cuff and hose from her pocket and attached them to his upper arm. A moment later the cuff inflated (snug, tight, uncomfortable; count of three, then the hiss as the pressure was relaxed).

“Another reading, just to be sure. Nurse?”

Nurse Morstan watched the monitor for the second reading, and the doctor stood on the patient’s other side, his fingers on Mr Holmes’s inner thigh. Slipping up the leg of the boxers as the cuff was at its tightest; under to fondle his patient’s balls. Sherlock’s cock thickened again as his breathing became heavier. The head of his cock poked out now from the flygap.

“His blood pressure’s a little elevated,” reported the nurse, resolutely not seeing what the doctor was up to.

“Make a note, nurse, please.”

Nurse Morstan scribbled something on a notepad. The doctor took his hand out of his patient’s underwear and, very gently but matter-of-factly, tucked his patient’s cock back inside his pants.

“I’d like to do another routine check,” said the doctor, “Just to be thorough. Raise your right arm and bend it, hand to the back of your head. Like that. Good.” The doctor’s strong hands squeezed his patient’s pectorals, following the line up to the armpit, checking the lymph nodes. He brought his hand back and rubbed the patient’s nipples between thumb and forefinger. Sherlock gasped. His nipples pebbled and peaked.

“All clear here. If you’ll do the other side, Nurse?”

Mr Holmes raised his other arm and let the nurse check his body for unusual lumps and swelling. After tweaking his nipples slightly she bent and suckled at it a moment. Nub between her teeth, tongue flicking.

“And the other,” directed the doctor. Nurse Morstan moved so she could lick-bite his other nipple.

The patient’s cockhead popped outside of his pants again.

“Very good. Now. I’d just like you breathe deeply a few times.” Doctor Watson lifted the stethoscope from around his neck, inserted the ends in his ears to listen to his patient’s heartbeat and lungs.

Before applying the cold disk of it to his patient, Doctor Watson held it up for the nurse to blow warm breath on it. Slow, mouth open, the tip of her tongue showing. She looked like she was about to bend over and slip her lovely mouth over his exposed cock, which everyone was otherwise ignoring.

“Thank you nurse.” The doctor’s own breath was getting faster. Sherlock could see his pulse flick-flick-flicking in his throat.

Stethoscope against his chest. Against his back. Breathing and beat both rapid. _Yes yes yes._

Stethoscope against his diaphragm. Against his abdomen. Against the shaft of his exposed cock and underneath the head, against the frenulum.

 _Oh god_ , _Yes yes yes_

Precome welled from his slit and the doctor removed the stethoscope just before the sticky dew reached it.

“I’m a little concerned about your heart rate and blood pressure, Mr Holmes,” said Doctor Watson. “Nothing to worry about, I’m sure. I’ll just take your temperature. If you could just stand up a moment. Off with your pants. Good. And turn to face the table, hands on top. Bend a little at the waist. Good.”

Sherlock’s cock was _so hard_ , upthrust towards his belly as he stood braced with his arse angled out, as he saw Mary approach the doctor with the rectal thermometer. He felt another cascade of precome well from his slit and slide down his shaft.

He heard the snap of the surgical gloves on the doctor’s hands, and on the nurse’s. He got harder at the sound of it.

“That’s it. Angled a little more, Mr Holmes. Good. This may be a little cold to begin with. Nurse, if you could spread Mr Holmes for me, please.”

Mary’s hands in their blue gloves holding and then parting his arse cheeks. Her thumbs in the cleft to hold him wide.

Wetness dribbled from his cockhead onto the edge of the examination table.

John’s gloved finger was at his entrance, slick with lube, massaging the ring of muscle for a moment before slipping his finger inside. John had warmed the lube in his palm first, from the wet squelch of it as John’s other fingers curled into his palm and his index finger moved in.

Sherlock spread his legs, stuck his arse out further, bit his lip on a whimper as his cock leaked onto the table.

“This might be a little uncomfortable,” warned his doctor, and then Sherlock felt the end of the thermometer slide into his arse. Nothing at all like John’s finger, and yet…

The doctor seemed to have trouble with it. Sliding the thermometer in. Then out. In again.  Out. In. Hold.

Sherlock pushed back against the implement in his hole and whimpered a little. The nurse parted his cheeks further still.

Sherlock heard a click. A camera.

The doctor left the nurse holding their patient exposed. Left the thermometer in their patient’s slicked hole. He held out a phone with an image on it. The thermometer _in situ._

“As you can see, Mr Holmes,” the doctor pointed towards the digital readout on the thermometer, “Your temperature is perfectly normal.”

Sherlock nodded and panted and had no idea what the readout actually said because while he looked at the picture of the thermometer in his anus, the doctor went back and moved it in and out of him a few more times.

“While I’ve got you here,” said Doctor Watson, “I’ll conduct a quick prostate exam.”

Thermometer out. More lube, and the doctor’s finger back in him. Moving in-and-out. Rubbing. Crooking down to rub just … _so._

A deep groan escaped Sherlock’s chest and the wet patch on the paper covering the examination table grew wetter and larger.

“Don’t be embarrassed if you _ah ah_ if you _Christ_ get an erection in response to the examination,” said Doctor Watson, who sounded like he was having a little trouble forming sentences.

“It’s perfectly normal,” said Nurse Morstan, much more crisply. “It’s a very sensitive part of the body.”

“Nurse Morstan, if if if you’d like to check the patient as well.”

“Of course, doctor. No, stay there, I think.”

John’s finger was still inside him, and Mary’s slid in next to it. Her finger crooked over the spot now, sending sparks along his nerves, making him push back against their fingers in him.

That’s when they both withdrew and Sherlock’s groan contained a strong note of protest.

“Won’t be long now, Mr holmes,” said Nurse Morstan cheerfully. “Doctor just wants to check your oral health, and then we’ll do a thorough series of tests on sexual function.” She helped her patient sit on the table again, to one side of the wet patch he’d made, eying it with a sense of professional satisfaction.

He was naked, and _so fucking hard_. And his Doctor’s trousers were stretched and damp in one spot. He could scent the arousal on them both: Mary’s slickness, John’s too. Perspiration. Pheremones. He wanted to kiss them.

“Say ah,” said the doctor, pressing down on Sherlock’s tongue with the tongue depressor.

Sherlock’s ah turned to _AH!_ as the doctor stroked his patient’s cock at the same time as looking in his mouth.

“I think we’ll need to do a few more tests on this,” said the doctor. “Just stretch out on the table there. Excellent. Nurse, if you’d get into position.”

Nurse Morstan hitched her short blue dress up to her hips and, with Doctor Watson’s help, climbed onto the table with her knees either side of Mr Holmes’s head.

She smelled _wonderful._

She wasn’t wearing panties. Only stockings and suspenders.

_Naughty nurse._


	3. Sound in mind and body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only a few more tests to go. Tongue strength. A check for blockages. A final test of sexual health. Yep. Everything's in excellent working order. Except, at the end of it, anybody's knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a bit of research on [sounds](https://barkingshaman.com/2012/08/21/how-to-use-urethral-sounds/), not having used one before. I think I'll leave it to the professionals, but I can see how somebody might like it.

“Open wide, there, Mr Holmes. Very good.”

Nurse Morstan grinned down at her patient, his face framed between her thighs, clad in black stockings topped with lace. Suspenders going up under her plain dress. Sherlock’s hands went to Mary’s hips while John moved to the head of the table to… supervise, Sherlock assumed.

“Say ah, Mr Holmes,” said Nurse Morstan. Her mouth had that wicked crook in it, Her eyebrows. Her voice. The scent of her, salt-musk-sweet.

Mr Holmes opened his mouth wide, stuck out his tongue in a broad, flat band and said aaaaahhhhh.

His nurse tilted her hips and spread her knees and lowered her wet cunt onto his tongue. IN front of her, his doctor splayed his palms across her abdomen and used his thumbs to spread the lips of her pussy, giving the patient full access to the folds of her; to the swelling nub. Allowing the doctor to watch (and he did, breath hitching) as the patient began to lick, nuzzle, suck, mouth and hum.

Nurse Morstan placed her hands on the doctor’s shoulders to keep her steady and lifted just enough, and she wriggled. She pushed down onto the greedy mouth engulfing her cunt and clit. She rocked her hips and murmured encouragement and direction.

“With your tongue… make a point… oh oh oh god yes, like that like… flick it flick it aaaaah… now suck me. Softly soft… harder now…god, John, spread me, fuck that’s perfect, god, look at him, look at him. You love that don’t you sweetheart. Eating me up. God yes. Keep keep oh oh doing that lick me lick me…”

Words were lost a moment when John leaned over to kiss Mary, and their mouths licked and sucked and suckled each other in an echo of Sherlock’s mouth on Mary’s cunt. Then Mary broke the kiss, panting, and rocked back a little to allow Sherlock room to breathe.

Sherlock didn’t want to breathe. That was utterly boring when the alternative was feeling Mary’s heat all around him, her cunt slicking wetness over his mouth, nose, chin, her body shivering as his tongue sought the length and depth of her. He could feel her pulse through her cunt against his mouth, and he could feel John’s erection radiating its own heat and scent by his cheek. Sherlock’s hands were firm on Mary’s bum, up under the ordinary blue dress that pretended it could disguise this wild and dangerous woman.

Sherlock groaned. Whimpered. His hips were shifting in tiny jerks, his cock seeking friction that was not forthcoming, and he opened his mouth wider, he licked long across her labia minor, deeper into the canal of her body; he suckled on the nub of her clit, rubbing it with his tongue as much as he could, as John obligingly held the plump lips of her labia majora wide.

And then Nurse Morstan grabbed Doctor Watson violently by his shoulders, trying not to ground down and suffocate the patient. But the patient had a firm grip on her hips and mouthed wide and greedily into the hot, wet V of her legs. The doctor’s hands were cupping her breasts now, thumbs rubbing against her peaked nipples through the dress. Mary pushed her breasts out into John’s hands and she pushed down against Sherlock’s mouth, rocking her hips, fingers clutching the John’s shoulders. She flung her head back and cried out. Coming, _coming, **coming**_ **.**

When Sherlock’s mouth on her cunt (still licking, sucking, in between gasping for breath) got too much, too sensitive, Mary shifted slightly, her knees and her doctor supporting her, but her slick cunt smearing wetness on Sherlock’s chest.

“Well,” she said, chest heaving for breath, eyes wide and bright, “Mr Holmes is fighting fit in the tongue department, I’d say.”

Doctor Watson helped her down from the table. Then he kissed her and rocked his hips against her.

And then Doctor Watson buried his fingers in Mr Holmes’s sweat-damp curls and kissed him too. Lick-nibbled his patient’s sticky wet chin and lips. Licked and sucked on his patient’s tongue.

“One more test, Doctor,” suggested the nurse. Doctor Watson drew reluctantly away. He undid his button and unzipped his trousers and pulled out his achingly hard, hot cock. He brushed his fingers across Mr Holmes’s cheek and brow.

“Head to one side, Mr Holmes,” said Nurse Morstan. Sherlock turned his head to the side and opened his mouth wide, Aaaaaah.

Doctor Watson pressed the patient’s tongue down with his fat cock. He closed his eyes and rocked his hips and moaned a little as his very good patient closed his lips around it and used tongue, lips, mouth, to slick it wetter, and took it down.

Five shallow strokes, then Doctor Watson withdrew, his reluctance to stop betrayed with a little moan of his own. He tucked his cock back into his pants (the girth and length of it pushed out against his pants, and was outlined on his trousers as he carefully zipped them up again. Sherlock wanted to mouth at the damp spot).

While Doctor Watson regained a measure of calm, Nurse Morstan kissed the side of their patient’s mouth. “You’re doing very well, Mr Holmes,” she murmured in his ear.

“Right,” said Doctor Watson. He cleared his throat and tried again, getting a deeper timbre this time. “Right. This next test may be a little uncomfortable, so you must tell me or Nurse Morstan if you’d like us to stop.” There was a meaningful look in his eye that was all business.

“Yes, Doctor,” said Sherlock meekly. His cock, not meek at all, was swelling again after flagging briefly during his tongue examination.

Nurse Morstan stood by as Doctor Watson fetched the new instrument. Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly when the doctor, in a fresh set of surgical gloves, held up a slender silver rod. Then Nurse Morstan took a firm hold of his cock and held it upright.

“This is to test for any blockages,” explained Doctor Watson. “Some patients find the sensation very s-stimulating.”

Sherlock could only nod.

“Of course, procedures like this should only be done by a professional using appropriate medical tools and not, as some idiots do, with just any old household object they think will fit.” Another meaningful look. Well, Sherlock had to admit that he was prone to inappropriate experimentation in other ways. But not this. No. No no no. The only two people he would ever trust to slide a metal rod into the slit of his cock were right here in this room, doing that very thing.

“Shall I proceed?” asked the doctor.

“Please please please. Yes. Yes yes yes.”

The doctor and the nurse smiled at one another, smugly delighted.

“Hold him steady, please, nurse.”

Mary’s grip on his ever-more-erect erection was firm and very steady. And John’s hand was the steadiest it had ever been as he slicked the urethral sound in as much surgical grade lube as needed, and then a bit more, and ever so carefully fed the rod through Sherlock’s slit.

_Inside_

The sensation was of slight pressure, a weird not-comfortable but not-bad; the sound thick enough to feel but not to stretch or hurt.  He and Mary and John all watched the rod slide through the copious lube _into his dick._ And then they _stopped._

“J-j-just let that sit for a moment.” John bit his lip and muttered, “Christ, this better not set up a Pavlovian response when I’m doing this professionally.

Then, at Sherlock’s nod, Dr Watson slid the sound just a little further in.

“All right?”

“Fuuuuuuuuuck,” said Sherlock.

“There’s an idea,” said Nurse Morstan brightly. She squeezed his shaft and he could feel it in there. A pressure, a slight ache, but good. And then John took the end of the sound and moved it up. Down. Just a little. Just a very little. Up. Down.

 _My penis is being fucked by my husband,_ Sherlock thought giddily.

“G-gonna try something else now,” said Doctor Watson, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Mary took over the sound, one hand holding Sherlock’s cock upright, the other gently moving the rod up and down. _My wife is fucking my penis. God god god god._

And then his husband slid a well-lubed finger into his anus. He didn’t seek the prostate, and Sherlock was disappointed and then grateful, because this as already _so much sensation_. Sherlock legs were spread and taut and quivering and he was holding extremely still, not wanting to buck up into the sound ( _danger_ ) but letting Mary move it in him ( _trust_ ) while John fingered him. ( _God oh god oh god_ oh god, gooooood.)

More lube into his cock for the sound, more lube in his arse with John’s finger. Sherlock was quivering so much with the _everything_ of it that he thought he might shake apart, and considered it a perfectly wonderful way to go.

“That’s enough for now, I think,” announced Nurse Morstan. She slipped the sound out of Sherlock’s penis and bent to kiss the shaft, the head.

“Ready Doctor?”

“Fuck, yes,” said John.

“Up you go then, Mr Holmes, your feet in the stirrups here.”

Sherlock blindly obeyed, letting Mary settle his feet into the stirrups attached to the examination table, leaving his arse and cock and bollocks bared. Her hand was still on his shaft, rubbing lightly, not enough to make him come, and he wanted to come now, fuck fuck fuck yes.

But Doctor Watson’s trousers and pants were around his shins now and unhitched some latch so that the bottom half of the table dropped down. Sherlock’s exposed (and _wet, lubed, ready_ ) arse was hanging just off the edge; his dick still echoing with the sensation of having been fucked; and then John crowded up against him.

Mary reached down with her free hand to stroke John once, twice, and then John’s hand and hers both positioned John right against Sherlock’s arse and _in he pushed_.

Mary’s left hand moved to Sherlock’s bollocks and cupped and stroked while John’s cock pushed slow, thick, perfect into Sherlock’s arse and began to move.

“Let Doctor Watson look after you now, Mr Holmes,” said Mary, losing some of her Nurse Morstan voice in favour of something altogether more sultry. “Oh god, it looks good, his cock in you. Fucking you with his fat cock. The Doctor is making sure you feel good. Do you feel good?”

“Yes. Yeeeeeeess. Yes. God.”

And then, still fondling his balls, Mary pushed her head between his legs and swallowed down his sweetly aching cock and sucked. Licked. Kissed, suckled. Stroked and fondled and…

John’s hands were wrapped around Sherlock’s raised knees, hips pumping, swearing in joyful, lusty satisfaction, while Mary took his cock deep down, then out and licked the slit ( _my wife and my husband fucked my dick; danger; trust; perfect_ ) and while her palm cupped Sherlock’s balls, her fingers stretched down to rub against the top of John’s shaft as he fucked his husband in a more traditional manner.

(Mary’s other hand had vanished, between her own legs. Sherlock had just enough brain left to drop his hand, grasp at hers, all uncoordinated; but she understood, grabbed his fingers, pushed them between her own legs and managed to slip two inside herself, and frotted against his palm.)

Mary surprised everyone by coming first, leaving off her sucking to muffle her cries against Sherlock’s upraised thigh. Then she swiped her fingers through her own sticky wetness, used it as lube to make Sherlock’s cock more slippery and wanked him while John fucked him.

Sherlock bucked up, arse tightening around John, and they both came together, John with a deep growl and Sherlock so breathless he hardly made a sound except a high pitched wheeze. With John still buried in him to the root, Sherlock quivered and pulsed and spattered his bare body, Mary’s hand and John’s shirt with come.

For a few minutes, there was no sound in the surgery but laboured breathing.

And then there was a breathless giggle. Two. Three.

“Well, Mr Holmes,” said Mary in the most professional Nurse voice she could muster, ”The results of your physical are conclusive.”

Sherlock, eyes shut, grinned like an idiot. “Everything’s in perfect working order?”

“A perfect specimen,” said Mary.

“Fit as a fiddle,” confirmed John. HE shifted, and his softening cock slid from Sherlock’s arse, leaving a sticky trail. John pressed close between Sherlock’s legs and leaned down to kiss Sherlock’s sticky belly, then their wife’s soft mouth.

Sherlock squeezed his knees against John in a weird kind of leg-hug. He found Mary’s hand with his own ( _wet, sticky, she fucked herself with those fingers, **wonderful**_ ) and squeezed it too.

His spice were just now starting to make noises about having to clean up. Everybody’s knees seemed to be jelly. Sherlock, eyes closed, let them lean against him and drowsily kiss his chest and face, waiting for the ability to use their limbs correctly to return.

 _Spice_ , he thought to himself, giggling at his own ridiculous recurring joke _, is definitely the variety of life._


End file.
